


The Morning After (The Night Before)

by iambuckyrogers



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 23:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19778488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iambuckyrogers/pseuds/iambuckyrogers
Summary: You wake up in a strange bed with little memory of the night before, Clint helps you piece it all together.





	The Morning After (The Night Before)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s 10 Marvelous Things I Hate About You Writing Challenge on Tumblr!!! I lOOOVE this movie and I hope that I did the prompt justice. All of Clint's POV are in the past/flashbacks.

Your POV  
Your head was pounding, the world spinning as you blinked your eyes open. You were lying in bed, but not yours and you couldn’t remember how you got there. Slowly you sat up, slumping against the headboard when the thumping in your head became too much.  
“She lives!” A rough voice came from the corner of our room, startling you.  
“Clint?” You tried to focus on the spinning room, you were almost certain you could make out the archer’s figure on the chair in the corner, but then again it could always be a pile of dirty clothes.  
“Forget all the fun we had last night?” he chuckled, getting up from his chair and making his way over to the bed with a glass of water and headache tablets.   
“F-fun? Shit, what did we do?” you stammered, looking down at your body you realised that you were no longer wearing your dress from the gala last night, instead, you were just in one of Clint’s shirts and your panties.  
“Relax sweetheart, we didn’t do anything. No chance after you vomited on my shoes,” He handed you the water and tablets, sitting on the bed next to you.  
“Oh god, I did what?” you gratefully swallowed the tablets as you tried desperately to remember what happened last night.  
“Don’t you remember anything that happened?” He asked, cocking his head to the side like a curious puppy.  
“No, just flashes, did I really pick up Mjölnir?”  
“Honey that wasn’t actually Mjölnir, it was a prop. Ok, you know what I’ll just tell you everything that I remember…”  
*****  
Clint’s POV  
“Shit, shit, shit,” He cursed under his breath, taking the steps 2 at a time up to your floor. He was over 15 minutes late to pick you up for the Avengers Gala and he knew you’d give him hell for it. He knocked on your door but was interrupted when it was yanked open.  
“You’re late Barton,” you ground out, pushing past him as you came through the door.  
“Sorry, I got held up,” he tried to explain but you just brushed him off with a curt wave of your hand.  
“Doesn’t matter, let’s just go,” you locked up your apartment and started off down the stairs leaving Clint trailing behind.  
*****  
Your POV  
You listened to Clint with your head in your hands, the thumping in your head refusing to go away.  
“I remember all of that, the car dropped us off at The Met, we were swarmed by paps, nothing really out of the ordinary,” you recalled, the memory still clear, “when we finally got inside I went to talk to Steve,” and there the memories started to become fuzzy, you looked up to Clint who was watching you intently, “and that’s all I remember.”  
“Of course it is…”  
*****  
Clint’s POV  
The second the two of you were inside you dropped Clint’s arm like a hot potato.  
“I’ve got to talk to Steve, I’ll find you later,” you left without letting him reply, weaving through the crowd towards Steve who was sat at the bar nursing a drink. Now alone, Clint sought out company, spotting Sam and Bucky through the crowd he made a beeline for their table.  
“Bird guy!” he laughed, clapping Sam on the shoulder, ”Soldat,” he saluted to Bucky sarcastically earning an eye roll from the super soldier.  
“Arrow man! How’s it going?” Sam replied, holding out his drink  
“Same old, same old,” he replied stoically, grabbing the drink and downing it in one mouthful.  
“I’d suggest otherwise,” Bucky noted. Clint looked over to where you were sitting, now alone at the bar, with a line of empty shot glasses scattered in front of you. You wobbled precariously on your chair as you tossed your head back and downed another drink, raising your empty glass triumphantly in the air.  
“Nah it’s all good,” he lied through his teeth, turning back to the boys. They fell into comfortable conversation talking about all sorts of things and catching up on each other’s lives as the drinks flowed and the night wore on. Clint was careful to keep an eye on you, well aware of how much you had drunk in such a short amount of time, looking up every now and then to make sure you were still at the bar. The screech of a microphone cut through the room, everyone looked around confused trying to find the source of the noise. Clint looked to where you had been sat for the last few hours but you were nowhere to be seen.  
“What a party, am I right?!” someone slurred over the speakers. Clint was sure that was your voice, and his suspicions were confirmed when a large spotlight illuminated you, very drunkenly stumbling up the steps of the stage.  
“No get those lights off,” you shouted in your very best (terrible) Donald Trump impression, waving your hands around causing you to lose your grip on the microphone, sending it hurtling into the audience. Fortunately, no one was hit, unfortunately, you found another microphone on the stage.  
“How’s everyone feeling tonight?” you were met with a very unenthusiastic wooh from the crowd, except Tony who cheered encouragingly, throwing you a thumbs up as he filmed you on his phone.  
“That’s what I like to hear!” you walked along the front of the stage, almost tripping on your floor length gown. “Did I hear someone say pick up mould near?” You gestured to the prop of Thor’s hammer, clarifying what you were trying to pronounce so poorly. It was sitting on the corner of the stage next to replicas of Steve’s shield and Tony’s helmet. You looked very disappointed with the lack of response, and Clint was getting concerned that no one had tried to remove you yet.  
“I said, did I hear someone say pick up mould near?” you repeated, this time a little louder. Clint had seen enough, getting to his feet he pushed his way through the crowd towards the stage where you were now trying to amp them up with a chant of ‘pick it up’. Surprisingly, it was catching on and by the time Clint made it through the masses the whole room was alive.  
“Y/N please get down,” he yelled up to you.  
“No, Clintothy, Clintamin, Cli- what even is your name short for? Who even cares? Don’t you think I’m worthy?” You sneered angrily.  
“Y/N, you know that’s not what I mean. You’re going to hurt yourself, please get down,” he pleaded in a last-ditch attempt to stop you from embarrassing yourself any further.  
“I am worthy!” you shouted, dropping the microphone dramatically. The crowd started to chant ‘worthy’ as you strode confidently over to the hammer, wrapping both hands securely around the handle. You bent your knees and shot the crowd a wink before yanking the hammer up with all your power. You grossly misjudged how light the prop was, using too much force you sent yourself toppling over backwards smacking your head on the floor, causing the crowd to gasp in unison. Clint leapt into action, pulling himself up onto the stage and scrambling over to your side.  
“Hey, Y/N, Y/N/N, honey, speak to me, are you ok?” he cupped your face in his hands. You nodded weakly, you tried to sit up but Clint pushed you back down gently.  
“Woah not too fast, I think you might have a concussion we have to take it slow,” he helped you to your feet, slinging your arm around his shoulders he helped you across the stage.  
“I’m ok!” you yelled to the crowd giving them a big wave as Clint basically carried you down the stairs and out into the fresh air of the night.  
“Alright here we go,” he set you down on a chair carefully, kneeling in front of you he looked you over to make sure you hadn’t broken anything or done too much damage to yourself.  
“Why are you going this?” you asked, looking at him with glazed over eyes.  
“I told you, you may have a concussion,” he replied, moving to sit next to you on the chair.  
“You don’t care if I never wake up.” Your words stung, leaving Clint shocked as to what he did to make you feel that way.  
“Sure I do,” he replied taking your hands in his and rubbing small circles with his thumb reassuringly.  
“Why?” You scoffed, clearly not believing anything he was saying.  
“Well, because then I’d have to start taking out girls that actually like me.” You froze and looked at him wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights.  
“Honestly Clint that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you slurred slapping him gently on the cheek and shaking your head. He was confused to say the least, looking at you quizzically in the hope that you’d explain what you meant.  
“I like you, like, like like you,” you blabbered looking down at your hands, “like a lot. And I know you just asked me to be your date to get back at Nat.” You looked at him sadly with tears in your eyes.  
“Oh god please say something,” you panicked.  
“Nat and I aren’t… No, I asked you because I like like you too Y/N, but I thought you hated me.”  
“Au contraire, Clinton,” you smirked, leaning in towards Clint, your eyes fluttering closed as you moved in closer. Suddenly, you opened your eyes wide, your hand flying to your mouth before you doubled over and emptied the contents of your stomach right onto Clint’s shoes.  
“Oh sweetheart,” he sighed, looking sadly at your weak figure, “feel better?” You shook your head no as you threw up again, this time aiming a little further away from his shoes and closer to the garden.  
*****  
Your POV  
“So, once you’d finishing yacking your guts up, I got you into the car and brought you back to my place. I didn’t feel safe leaving you on your own I’ve heard stories of people choking on their own vomit and I got was worried that you’d throw up again. You got yourself changed while I made up the guest bed but you must have decided that mine was more comfortable because when I got back you were curled up and fast asleep,” He smiled sheepishly, “and that brings us back to the present.”  
“Wow, that was a ride,” you laughed looking at Clint, “so what now?” Your confidence from last night had clearly come up with your drinks.  
“I thought you hated me,” Clint whispered, “we used to hang out all the time, we were really close but now, we don’t really see each other, and when we do you’re short and kind of bitchy.”  
“Oh Clint, I’m so sorry,” you apologised, “I thought that you were dating Nat, the more time we spent together, the harder I started to fall for you. I didn’t want to have my heart broken so I pushed you away, hoping that my feelings would disappear” You explained, “but, evidently not.”  
“Oh honey,” Clint chuckled, using his index finger to gently tilt your head up to look at him, “Nat’s like a sister to me, I- we- just no,” he shivered and wrinkled his nose at the thought, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, we could have gotten to this,” he leant in and quickly pressed his lips to yours, “a whole lot sooner.” Your face heated up as the widest smile stretched across your face, one which was mirrored on his too.  
“Well, what are we waiting for?” you pulled Clint in by the back of his neck, crashing your lips onto his. He returned the kiss just as passionately, rolling the two of you so you were on your back and he hovered above you, pressing soft kisses all over your face.  
“We’ve got lost time to make up for.” He arched his eyebrows playfully before connecting your lips to his once again, and nothing had ever felt so right.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @iambuckyrogers


End file.
